


forever's relatively relative

by vitriol



Category: Fate/strange fake, ロード・エルメロイⅡ世の事件簿 - 三田誠 | Lord El-Melloi II Case Files - Sanda Makoto
Genre: M/M, Nightmares, its rly soft tbh, narita dont steal my ideas ok!!!!, post fate/strange fake, vol 5 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 19:49:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21142247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vitriol/pseuds/vitriol
Summary: Over a month has passed since the Snowfield Grail War ended, and Svin is still adjusting to the Flat Escardos that came back as a survivor.





	forever's relatively relative

**Author's Note:**

> so i just want to say that while this is not my ideal ending for flat's arc in fsf, i really do love flatsvin and i also love angst. this is just the thing that was born from both these things.

Recovering from a war is never easy.

This is what Svin Glascheit has learned, and has been forced to come to terms with.

Throughout his life as a mage, the whispers of the Holy Grail War have never been far out of earshot. His Professor was the sole survivor of one, and the rumors that floated around because of it were enough to make his eyes roll whenever the subject had come up while walking in the hallways or in idle chat— _do you believe that he really killed the previous El Melloi?_

He never knew. And he never cared. Even if it had been true in the first place, it would have never changed the way that Svin saw him. Lord El Melloi II was the man that took him in when no one else would, the person that _rescued_ him from the pit of despair that he had been pushed into by his family and the Clock Tower.

Svin had simply accepted the occasional tired, faraway gaze that his Professor would get during lectures as the norm up until the day of his graduation, never thinking twice about it.

However, as he stares at the sleeping figure of Flat Escardos besides him...he can’t bring himself to feel that same indifference.

It did not take long to notice the changes in his former classmate. His nose had always been more than excellent, after all, and it immediately picked up on the underlying, unfamiliar scent that mixed in with the frivolous smell that was so characteristic of Flat.

The scent was dark and gloomy, a stench of copper that made him feel like he was in the scene of a slaughter.

It was the scent of murder that came off of Flat, and that alone was worrying.

_Just what happened to you? What did you do in that war?_

These were only a couple of the questions that kept him awake for hours—even when Flat had already answered them.

_We had to protect people, Svin. This was the only way Jack and I were able to do it without dying._

Svin had wanted to shake him, then, punch him or yell at him that nothing was worth the price that he payed, because in the end Jack had still _died_ and all Flat had left of that _thing_ were a plastic knife and the urges of a serial killer. Nothing was worth the tears that ran down Flat’s cheeks as he held himself back from slitting Svin’s throat in the middle of the night.

_You should have let them die—_it’s a thought that occasionally crosses Svin’s mind. It never helps him feel any better; it makes him feel guiltier, if anything.

Besides him, Svin feels Flat shifting in his sleep. It was strange, still allowing him to sleep in the same bed as him despite the chances of being killed. But Svin had always considered himself skilled in self-defense and strength, which was exactly what Flat lacked.

And to leave him alone...part of him believes it to be too cruel of a punishment. Because he understood what it felt like, to walk the tight rope between a monster and a human—a misstep could mean going berserk and tearing apart all that they love. It was a weight that Svin had bared since accepting his Magic Crest— he could only imagine how Flat was doing, having been thrust into this world so suddenly. Does he regret it? Does he wish that he could turn back time and changed his mind over participating in such a horrible thing?

He hears a whimper. It’s obvious proof that Flat is having some sort of nightmare—a rare occasion. Usually it was the other way around, with Svin tossing and turning, fighting in his sleep in order to fight against the sharp knives and other torture methods that had made up his past.

Now that he thinks about it, he’s never wondered what kind of things haunt Flat. There’s no doubt they exist—war aside, Svin’s certain that there’s no Mage with a happy childhood. But sometimes the image of his first meeting with Flat surfaces, and those words that came from his Professor ring in his mind—

—_Don’t use Magecraft to force smiles. _

Now, as he listens to Flat’s rapid breathing, he can’t help but wonder just _what_ on Earth had happened to make him reach the point where he needed Magecraft to smile. He wishes that he could drag these answers out of Flat, see just what is hiding behind his smile and that scent of blood that never goes away. But he’s never really gotten a straight answer, and part of him doubts that he ever will get much more than vague responses and half smiles.

And that’s something Svin has resigned himself to.

With a sigh, he shifts in bed, turning towards Flat. Waking him up is easy, especially with how light his sleep is. And a hand on his shoulder is enough to get him to jolt awake, jumping away from the touch like a scared animal.

“You—you...” Flat’s voice shakes, his eyes fixed on Svin, but not really recognizing him yet. Perhaps, his nightmare still had a hold on him, like a vice grip—the smell of fear was potent in the air.

Not wishing to be seen as a threat, Svin stays still. “It’s me.” He says, voice level and deep—much deeper than when they had first met.

It’s that which pulls Flat back down to reality. His gaze focuses and his body relaxes, settling back on the bed with a tired, defeated sigh. “‘m sorry.” He mumbles, voice laced with exhaustion and just a hint of shame.

“Don’t apologize.” Svin responds nonchalantly, his gaze settling on his roommate’s (just roommates? Or friends? At this point, what are they anymore?) back. Over the past few weeks, it’s become too apparent how much Flat needed him in order to stay fixed to reality, so he wouldn’t float away and disappear. The Professor was his anchor, but there was no way that he could do that on his own. He knew he could do it—no one else knew Flat Escardos the way he did.

It’s a fact that filled Svin with a sense of pride and vindication, like he would be willing to laugh in the face of the Heroic Spirit that Flat adored so much.

_He needs **me. **Not you. _

Perhaps it isn’t the most healthy thought process, but Svin doesn’t care. He knows that the both of them have long stopped being considered normal, even by the standards of other Magi. Most of them would have stopped considering them as proper humans—but no monster would ever consider them one of their own.

So they’re in their own little category, neither human or monster. For the longest time, Svin had considered himself to be the only one like this. Unable to be relate with neither human or beast, he had become so lonely—desperate to find someone he could share his experience with.

(The first person he had tried to connect with had been Gray. A failure of catastrophic proportions, and it took years for Svin to realize that she would not be the one, no matter how similar her scent was to his own.)

Svin shifts in the bed, closing the space between him and Flat. His hearing is sharp enough to tell that the other hasn’t gone back to sleep yet, his breathing too quick and muscles too tense for it to be so.

He loops an arm over Flat’s shoulder, turning to press his own chest against his back. Immediately, he feels a momentary tension from the other, before relaxing.

Though it was no more than a second, it’s that hesitation that makes Svin’s stomach boil with anger. An anger that is not directed at Flat himself, but at the circumstances that would make him so skittish, preferring an insult or an attack over a show honest affection.

Underneath his arm, he feels Flat begin to move. Immediately, Svin readies himself to be pushed away, or for the other to simply pull apart from the embrace—it wouldn’t be the first time it has happened.

But instead of pulling away, he turns his body so the front is facing Svin’s. Flat doesn’t look at him, looking unusually subdued. And while he doesn’t go as far as wrapping his arms around in some sort of a hug, he presses his forehead against the top of Svin’s chest, breathing out a shaky sigh.

He closes his eyes, and Svin watches as the tension in his body starts to recede, his breathing slowing down into something calmer, more peaceful. Once he’s sure that Flat’s asleep, he nuzzles the top of his head, breathing out a sigh of his own as he relaxes against the shape of his partner’s body.

_We’ll get through this, _Svin thought as sleep finally began to weigh his eyelids down. _As long as I’m here, I’ll protect you. _

**Author's Note:**

> follow me at @/glascheit on the blue bird site for more flvin crytweeting!


End file.
